


Sing me a song

by SleepingwithWolves



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Dark Character, F/M, Random & Short
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-19
Updated: 2017-11-19
Packaged: 2019-02-04 08:30:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12767064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SleepingwithWolves/pseuds/SleepingwithWolves
Summary: Jon gets DreamsSansa gets feelingsAnd Arya is just confused.What they all want are the memories of a past that didn't really happen.





	Sing me a song

Sometimes, Jon Snow dreams. 

In his dreams, there's a woman in his hands dying. There's a sword by his side, a white wolf at its end and tears in her eyes. 

They're the only ones. Buried in snow, with the wind that howls so loudly he has to strain his ears just to hear her soft breathing. 

The woman lifts her hands, runs her fingers at his cheekbones and asks, her voice being the most painful sound he has ever heard. "Why Jon?" 

I don't know. 

The words die out on his tongue. It's cold. And he shivers against her. Seeks the warmth her pool of blood gives and his heart breaks and he tries, but only mouths a thousand apologies against her ears.

The barest of movement she made stops and somehow, something tells Jon that the cold should end too. 

Only that it doesn't. 

In Jon's dreams, a woman dies in his arms and he follows her soon after. 

They die out in the open, buried in snow. 

\- 

One of the perks of being here, Sansa muses, is free coffee. Taking a sip, she grimaces. The cons she considers, is that it isn't good. At all. 

The government should really make bad coffee a criminal offence. It fits the bill entirely to a 'T' and Sansa wouldn't mind helping to jail the living shit out of a lazy barista. She'll do it for free. And Damn, she's sure to become a national hero of sorts afterwards. 

"Would you come here already?" 

She lets out a sigh and stands, gripping the cup with both her hands. It might be good, she thinks, if she could get someone to snap a picture of the coffee cup and her mittens, beautiful things she bought online their colour a mixture of sky blue and hues of gray, it would make a good aesthetic Instagram post. If one could ignore the smudged dried blood beneath her feet. She sighs, and takes them off. There's no place for them here.

"Looks like the same guy." Brienne tells her, crouched as she is next to the dead man. 

Sansa looks around. It might not be. Most of Mr. Doe's kills were clean. Not much of a struggle. Even if the preferred method was more then a little violent. But it was a consequence of using a fucking sword for your daily serial killings. Most of the victims seemed to have been taken unaware. A large deep slash to the chest, and except the blood, everything, the chairs, the drawers, the decorations and not-surprisingly (considering the murders felt more like a revenge plot unfolding) the money, all in their place. 

This? This looked like the leftovers of an epic showdown. "What's the victim's name?" 

"Alliser Thorne" 

Something stirs in her stomach. The man was prepared for it, for him. Whatever lists of names Doe was following, Alliser knew he was next. Which was worrisome in itself. The previous victims had nothing to even hint a connection to one another. A pattern Sansa didn't expect to break now. 

It was either that or, she looks at him, Thorne somehow managed to fight with no prior knowledge. 

Are you getting sloppy? 

It's his pockets her eyes are drawn to. She bends down and- "So it's the former." She muses, turning the bullets around for Brienne to look." He was expecting the attack." 

"Don't state the obvious, little bird." She rolls her eyes as Sandor walks in and gets up as he crouches down besides the tall woman who makes a face, then picks up the shotgun. 

"Our boy got a few shots." 

"You don't know for sure." 

No one does. We don't even know if it's the same guy. It could be some underground criminal syndicate for all they know. 

She has a hunch. A gut feeling that has her somewhat twitchy about this whole affair. 

Varys would probably want something more than that though. 

She looks at the bullets in her hands, Alliser Thorne, like it was for the rest of the victims, she's heard that name from somewhere before.


End file.
